


Microbrew

by Dbaw3



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Watersports, Werewolves are kinky, piss drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 15:25:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17409401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dbaw3/pseuds/Dbaw3
Summary: The Pack keep plying Stiles with a new microbrew. Stiles develops a taste for it.





	Microbrew

Stiles blinked up at Jackson in confusion for a moment, as Jackson and the others watched him, waiting. He was sure the prank was meant in good fun, but he needed a moment to process, as he stared at Jackson’s cock sticking out of his pants.

Stiles had never liked the taste of beer, but being a red-blooded American only-very-slightly-under-the-legal-drinking-age-Dad guy, he’d choke it down, and gag and make faces about it when he managed to get a few minutes alone. Everyone liked beer, right?

About a month before, however, Jackson had brought him a beer from the kitchen when he got up to get himself something. That first time Jackson handed Stiles a bottle, Stiles was suspicious: though they’d gotten along better since both Jackson and Stiles had returned to Beacon Hills, they still weren’t exactly best buddies. After a cautious sip, though, Stiles perked up. Where he normally internally flinched at the super hoppy taste, there was only a slight undertone, and instead there was a pleasant, less harsh bitterness. 

“Thanks, man,” he said to Jackson, who blinked in surprise, but then smiled wider. Stiles noticed there was no label on the bottle. “Where’d this come from? I might want to pick some up later,” Stiles continued, surprised that he meant it.

Jackson shrugged. “Local microbrewery I found. Very small batch maker.”

For some reason, Isaac snickered, but it turned into a cough.

Stiles had been surprised to find that he drank the bottle relatively quickly–he normally nursed on a single beer all night–and asked where he could find another.

“Sure,” Jackson said, looking vaguely startled. “I, uh, might not have anything on ice, though.”

Stiles shrugged, and Jackson went inside to find it. He was gone for several minutes before returning, another unlabeled, open bottle in his hand.

“Last one,” he said. “Sorry it’s warm. Think of it as being British-style.”

Stiles took it, and was surprised that the bottle wasn’t just room temperature, but warm. “Where were you keeping it, next to your furnace?” he asked a little snidely. Still, he took a sip. “Huh,” he said. “Maybe I’m a little English, cause I think that tastes better.”

Everyone kind of shared significant looks, which Stiles watched skeptically.

The next time the Pack got together, they were at the McCall house. When Scott asked if he wanted anything to drink, Stiles asked, “I don’t suppose you have any of that microbrew Jackson had?”

Isaac immediately jumped up and said, “I’ll get it!” and ran out of the room.

“That was weird,” Stiles said, looking at Scott.

Scott shrugged, looking a little shifty. “It’s Isaac,” he said, as if that was answer enough.

Stiles supposed it was.

Shortly after, Isaac returned with his bottle and handed it to him with forced nonchalance. “It’s, um, a different batch than what Jackson had,” Isaac said. “I think they used a different…filtration system. Or something. Anyway, it might taste different.”

“Ooookay,” Stiles said warily, but rather than comment further on Isaac’s bizarre behavior, he took a drink.

Again, the beer was warm almost to the point of being hot, but it did taste different than the beer at Jackson’s house. Slightly sweeter, but with more body. 

“That’s good,” Stiles announced. “Actually, I’d love to try different batches, just to compare the flavors.”

For some reason, Scott started choking and coughing, while Jackson looked like he was trying not to laugh. Once Stiles finished pounding Scott on the back and he seemed to be breathing again, Isaac said slowly, “I’m sure that could be arranged.”

Stiles turned to Scott and asked, “You okay?”

Scott choked out, “I’m fine.”

“You want a taste, man? It’s really good.”

Scott made a face and said, “No!” He quickly waved his hand and said, “I mean, I already have a beer. See, beer. Enjoy your, uh, drink,” Scott insisted.

Stiles was starting to wonder if the whole pack was going nuts, but he found he didn’t care, as long as he kept getting this great microbrew.

It went on like that for a while. Every time the pack got together, one of the guys would grab him a warm brew. Scott looked a little bashful the first time he brought him a bottle, and relieved for some reason when Stiles deemed this batch tasted excellent, as if he’d brewed it himself. 

Derek looked at them all as if they were idiots. So, nothing new there.

By the time they had a pack meeting back at Jackson’s, Stiles had consumed what he assumed was the entire brewery’s samples, since everyone seemed to have different batches, though some had a bottle or two from someone else’s batch. (Stiles noted that he never got as buzzed on the beer as he had on things like Bud. He assumed they brewed for lower alcohol content.)

After his initial bottle, he’d asked for a refill, which was when Jackson had looked at the others and gotten up to stand next to Stiles’ chair. Rather than taking his bottle to go get a replacement, like a NORMAL and GOOD host, Jackson had instead whipped out his dick. “I can refill your bottle,” he said slowly, “or you can drink my piss directly from the tap. I think you’ll enjoy the hot, fresh taste better.”

Which brought Stiles back to the here and now.

So, apparently, he’d been drinking werewolf (and hellhound, and half-kanima, etc.) piss for the last month. And maybe he should be upset about that. He should jump up and demand answers, storm out and never speak to anyone again.

The thing is, they weren’t laughing at him, like it was all a big joke. They weren’t making fun of him. Whatever it was, it wasn’t some strange, sick, prank.

Also, he thought, as he shifted in his seat, he found he was turned on the more he thought about it. And he noticed Jackson getting harder where his (admittedly, really nice) cock was still hanging out of his fly.

Stiles chanced a glance at the others, and realized they were all leaning forward and were waiting for his response. They were also, mostly, trying to hide their own erections.

All except Derek, who was not trying to hide anything, and was openly palming his dick through his pants. “Call it a rite of passage, Stiles,” Derek said, voice steady enough as he met his gaze. “A human member of a wolfpack becomes one with the pack by imbibing the bodily fluids of the others, therefore taking a part of them into himself.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at Derek and tilted his head. “You are totally making that bullshit up.”

Derek blinked, and one corner of his mouth twitched upward. Stiles knew that was Derek-speak for “Prove it.”

Stiles then turned back to Jackson, who was starting to look a little nervous, as if he was suddenly absorbing how ridiculous he looked. Stiles, though, eyed the cock in front of him and licked his lips.

Jackson’s breath caught, and his dick twitched. At least one wolf growled, though Stiles couldn’t say who.

With that, he felt a little more in control of the situation.

“Bodily fluids, huh?” he asked Derek, even as he wrapped his hand around Jackson’s almost entirely hard cock and pulled him a little closer. Smiling at the rest of the wolves gathered before bringing his mouth closer to the cock in his hand, looking up to see Jackson looking vaguely stunned, but his eyes glowing blue.

“I think a taste test might be in order.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to Tumblr as a photo caption.
> 
> And yes, I keep kicking around ideas for a sequel/continuation.


End file.
